


50/50

by renaissance



Series: #jbweek [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 12:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2388071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/renaissance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s hoping that now the soldiers are returning, things will go back to normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	50/50

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for Day 6 is "favourite thought one has about the other," so naturally I just pulled the quote and shoved it into a context that interested me. You'll know it when you see it. Enjoy!

It’s been a week since the soldiers began coming home. Brienne’s been feeling useless on the home front—she can’t darn socks like all the other girls, and her father wouldn’t let her go to London to drive a truck. Out in the country, they’ve been taking in evacuees. She’s hoping that now the soldiers are returning, things will go back to normal.

Except, there’s nothing normal about the soldiers.

Brienne spends the morning with Margaery while her brother Loras stands at their friend Renly’s grave. Loras said he was just going there to leave flowers, and he’d be done in a few minutes, but he’s been standing there for hours, not crying, not angry, not saying _anything_.

They’re walking back from the graveyard when they pass Cersei Lannister on the road, one of the richest women in town. She wouldn’t waste her time on Brienne, but she stops to greet Margaery out of courtesy.

“And how are you faring?” Margaery asks.

Cersei sighs. “Jaime hasn’t been the same since he came home,” she says.

Margaery nods in understanding, but Brienne knows she couldn’t really care less about the Lannisters. “What’s wrong with him?” she asks.

“I don’t see why you would need to know that,” Cersei says sharply, not looking at either of them. Brienne wonders why, then, she mentioned it in the first place.

Later, when they’ve put enough miles between themselves and Cersei, Margaery leans over to Brienne and whispers, “Now I’m _curious_!”

Brienne’s curious too.

She finds herself walking towards the Lannisters’ house, curious enough to risk Cersei’s ire. She’s seen the blank look in Loras’ eyes, and she’s seen men stop in the middle of the streets and scream. She’s heard her father talk about the Great War.

The Lannisters don’t live in the centre of town, so it’s a bit of a walk, but Brienne is nothing if not perseverant. You can’t miss the house—it’s the largest on the street, as ostentatious as befits a family headed by an army General.

Brienne is surprised to see Jaime Lannister sitting in the front garden. The hedges are trimmed in neat rows, and the marble sculptures are cleaned pristine. There’s not a stray leaf fallen from any of the trees, and Jaime Lannister sits in the midst of perfection, covered in dirt. His hair is lank and knotted, and he has a vacant look about him. Brienne thinks he might be staring at the sky, but she’s not sure.

“Jaime Lannister?” she calls. She feels like she’s going to get in trouble for this.

He looks up sharply, eyes wide. “Reporting for duty!”

Brienne takes a step backwards. It’s the War—it _changes_ them.

Jaime laughs. “I’m just messing with you,” he says. “I’m not actually fucked in the head. You can come in. Are you selling anything?”

“I-I’m not selling anything,” Brienne says hesitantly, pushing the gate open. What kind of a man would pretend to be unwell just for a joke?

“Then what are you doing here?” he asks. “Can’t you see I’m doing other important things?”

 _Like what?_ Brienne almost asks, but she stops herself. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” she says. “Lots of the returned soldiers aren’t—aren’t doing so well, and—”

“I’m stronger than them,” Jaime says.

It’s so clear to Brienne that he _isn’t_.

He’s dressed in his uniform, medals and all, and where he once had a right hand is now a roughly-bandaged stump. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days or eaten in weeks—half a corpse, but also, half a god.

Close up, he’s beautiful, like his sister. His face is haunted by war, but Brienne can’t bring herself to look away.

“You were just curious, weren’t you?” he asks.

Brienne sits down in front of him. “My father fought in the Great War,” she says. “And your sister says you... you haven’t been the same.”

“I haven’t,” he agrees. “Although why Cersei would tell you that, I don’t know.”

“I don’t think she meant to,” Brienne says.

Jaime laughs. “Cersei means everything she says. She must have had some plan. So why did you really come here?”

It catches Brienne off-guard, just how good he is at changing subject mid-sentence. He knows she hasn’t been open with him. “I…”

“Go on.”

“When I was growing up,” she says hesitantly, “I wanted to go to war, like my father had done. I wanted to be a soldier. I’m stronger than most boys my age, so I thought—I thought I could fight. But seeing everyone come back—”

“Seeing what war _actually_ is,” Jaime finishes. “It’s not so glamorous, is it?”

“No,” Brienne admits quietly.

“I was held as a prisoner for nine months,” Jaime says. “I lost my hand to an enemy shell, and the same people who’d thrown it were the ones who helped the wound heal. There was nothing _righteous_ about it. Just broken people helping other heal.”

Brienne looks away.

“Do you still want to be a soldier?” he asks.

“No,” she says. “No, I—”

“I thought not.” He sighs. “I’m glad you came to talk to me, though. I don’t mind the company.”

Brienne gets to her feet. “I’ll come again tomorrow.”

“Don’t let Cersei catch you,” Jaime jokes.

On her walk back to the town centre, Brienne notices Cersei leaving, trying not to catch anyone’s eye. She passes the graveyard, and Loras is still standing there, silent. She makes her way home, and her father’s asleep in the drawing room.

She thinks back to Jaime sitting in the garden—home for days, and looking like he’s refused to wash or change out of her uniform, and she can’t imagine anything half so horrible as war.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment!


End file.
